


Break My Bones But You Won't See Me Fall

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band), Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Explicit Language, Fluff and Crack, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4562640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe Louis was growing up. Maybe this was his coming of age story."</p><p>Or, Louis is Bella Swan, Zayn is Edward Cullen, and vampires are totally real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break My Bones But You Won't See Me Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handcversbruise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handcversbruise/gifts).



> My dearest Fee, I am so pleased I was able to gift this to you. Apparently all I do these days is write you vampire Zouis funtimes. I hope you can find something enjoyable in this.
> 
> And thank you, of course, to Rue and Emily for reading this over and repeatedly telling me it is not actually an abomination. I still don't believe either of you.
> 
> I also tried really hard to write this so it kind of sounded like it was coming from a British person, but I'm sure I failed. I am really, really sorry.
> 
> Title from Jess Glynne's "Hold My Hand."

 

Louis had never, ever expected for this to happen. Yet here he was, backpack slung over his shoulder and passport in hand as he kissed his mother goodbye and prepared to board a flight from London Heathrow to Sea-Tac.

“You’ve got everything, right?” his mum asked anxiously, petting through his hair and staring at Louis with wide, beseeching eyes. She’d been frazzled all morning, first during the three hour drive down to the airport, then during baggage claim, and now as she was finally seeing Louis off.

Louis hummed, mumbled a “Yeah, yeah,” but otherwise tried to avoid his mother’s gaze. Louis hadn’t been taking this whole trans-continental move thing very well. He’d been struggling with his A-levels and experienced a few “disciplinary issues” along the way, so naturally his mother thought that shipping him abroad to restart the whole process might do him some good. Maybe it would — Louis had no way of knowing. His mum’s separation with Mark had hit Louis kind of hard, he could admit it, and now Louis would have the chance to live with the man he’d always thought of as his father where he’d relocated in the States. Louis was sure he would miss his sisters, miss the insanity and the hustle and bustle of Doncaster and all of his friends, but living with Mark might mend some of the gaping wounds he’d been futilely attempting to fill over with cheap vodka, meaningless sex, and skateboarding during school hours.

“Call me as soon as you land, hm?” his mother continued. “Send me a picture of your room, too. Want to see all of your posters, and hear all about high school in America — ”

“I’ll be _fine_ , Mum,” Louis huffed, but he finally caught his mother’s eye again, sinking in the worry and fear dominating her gaze. The hard, indifferent exterior Louis constantly tried to project cracked a little, and Louis sniffled when he fell into his mother’s arms, holding her tight before murmuring, “I love you.”

There was a moment where Louis’ mum wouldn’t — or maybe couldn’t — let go, but then her hold broke and Louis finally turned to join the queue through security. Louis tried to watch his mother as he snaked through the line, wanted to commit the tremble of her lip and the tear tracks running down her face to memory. It felt like a punishment, the realization that he’d brought this pain upon his mother and now would have to deal with the repercussions. Louis tracked her as long as he could, until she got engulfed in the crowds and Louis couldn’t see her anymore. 

Louis took a deep breath and tried to squash down panic and rage at the understanding that he was all alone.

It was going to be a long, _long_ flight.

 

Washington was really wet. Louis was surprised to discover this because he had always assumed that the States were like _Grease_. Hot and sunny. California bright. Endless vacation weather.

Washington wasn’t too different from Donny, which was probably why Mark had ended up settling here. The sky was dreary and overcast when Louis finally set foot in Seattle, and his Vans were entirely soaked through by the time they pulled all of Louis’ luggage out to Mark’s car. Mark drove a beat up, red pick-up truck that he’d bought secondhand on the Internet. Louis tried not to sneer as he climbed into the passenger. 

The truck lurched and sputtered the whole drive down to Forks and the rain never did let up either. If anything, the weather just seemed to get progressively shittier, rain lashing against the car violently while Mark’s poor windscreen wipers tried to keep up. Mark played old tapes during the interminable drive out of Seattle and deeper into Olympia greenery, blasting a mix of Queen and Pink Floyd as the roads looped around lush national forest and small petrol stations before they finally passed by a sign announcing their welcome arrival in Forks.

Louis had done a fair amount of Googling when his mother first told him about his impending exile to Washington, but that wasn’t enough to fully equip him for what Forks was like on that first drive up. Doncaster wasn’t a small town. Donny had museums, theaters, nightclubs, rugby, and the Rovers. Forks had . . . well. Louis wasn’t quite sure what Forks had, but it didn’t even have 5,000 people. And that little tidbit was enough to send Louis’ head reeling.

They pulled onto a dirt road off of 101, Mark’s house a modest two-story structure nestled behind trees and other assorted greenery that Louis couldn’t possibly begin to identify. A black dog was sitting on the porch, the poor thing thankfully shielded from the rain, and the dog picked its head up at the sound of the truck’s roaring engine, wagging its tail in excitement. 

The pick-up groaned to a stop, the engine still tinkling even after Mark had cut the power off, and Mark jogged ahead to the front door. The dog sat up entirely, preening when Mark ran his hands over its muzzle. Louis sighed, not for the first time since getting off the plane, and wondered once more what _exactly_ he’d gotten himself into it.

 

The dog was called Freddie after Freddie Mercury. Freddie very quickly decided he liked Louis and wanted to be best friends, following him around the house after Louis and Mark trudged all of his luggage in. Just as the outside suggested, the digs were fairly quaint. Downstairs there was a small living room furnaced with the bare essentials, a half bath, and a kitchen with old ‘50s style appliances. Then upstairs were two bedrooms and a bathroom. Louis’ room was fairly small, several windows overlooking the road, with a queen sized bed that took up most of the space and a dresser shoved into the closet. Mark seemed sheepish, mumbling that he hadn’t been able to do much on such short notice, but Louis shushed him with a hug and told Mark that he’d put his clothes away while Mark rustled up dinner. It wasn’t Mark’s fault Louis was the fuck-up here. It was nice enough that Mark was even willing to take Louis in.

Louis had always been a bit messy, so his idea of putting clothes away mainly consisted of kicking his wet Vans off into a corner, shoving his pants into the top drawer, and then upending the rest of his belongings on the bed. Freddie, who had settled on the floor, napped as the house creaked and groaned with every slight insinuation of wind. It should’ve been scary, standing around in this old, dark house, being so far away from his mum and his sisters, but when Louis closed his eyes, he could almost make pretend like this place — like _Forks_ — could be home.

 

Louis didn’t really do much during his first few weeks in Washington, which wasn’t entirely surprising. This was supposed to be a punishment, after all. A way to bring some structure and stability into his life.

Mark and one of his friends, another British expat, owned a tiny restaurant across the way from the police station. Mark offered to help Louis get his work permit so that Louis could work there, too, but Louis liked the idea of wasting his life away on his computer better. As a compromise, Mark tasked Louis with tending to the house and garden “to make himself useful.” So every morning Mark got up at six and he opened the door to Louis’ room and let Freddie jump all over the bed to wake Louis up. Louis put on the kettle while Mark rustled up breakfast. It was nothing fancy, often just beans on toast or leftover scones from the restaurant, but Mark was known to make a fry-up on Sundays. Then Mark headed off to work and Louis Skyped his mum before heading back to bed for a few hours. He woke up again around noon, made himself a hotdog or some other idiot proof meal, and then tidied up around the house before taking Freddie for a walk. 

It was a fairly boring routine, but the walks with Freddie offered Louis an opportunity to explore Forks. The city itself was only something like 9 square kilometers and Freddie was a young dog who legitimately enjoyed the exercise. So Louis walked by the college — _high school_ , he reminded himself firmly — that he would be attending on one day, and then the next day Louis headed down to the Timber Museum.

That was kind of it, really. Forks didn’t have a whole lot going on, so Louis mainly walked to those two places and tried to tell himself that that was enough.

 

One brisk July afternoon Louis popped into Forks Coffee Shop before making his way back up 101. Louis found himself meandering down a random side street near the elementary school, and there, toward the end of the street, where homes gave way to nothingness, sat one of the largest and sleekest houses Louis had ever seen.

Louis stopped, letting his eyes slide over the building. It was impressive, an expensive-looking wood frame with floor to ceiling glass windows and a sloping ceiling almost entirely covered with solar panels. Several cars were sat in the garage, including a silver Jaguar, a red Mercedes Benz, and a black motorcycle that seemed entirely impractical considering Forks’ weather. Louis whistled under his breath. He didn’t even know that rich people lived in Forks. He felt like he’d read that the median income was pretty low in the town, actually. Only something like $36,000. It felt kind of wrong — gaudy, actually — seeing such blatant wealth juxtaposed with the working class simplicity so many of Forks’ residents displayed.

Freddie tugged at his leash, snapping Louis back into the moment. Louis sighed and patted against the dog’s side before allowing himself to walk again, but not before catching sight of a man standing and watching Louis from inside of the giant house.

 

Louis was on the verge of writing Forks off entirely by the time that school finally started. He’d already explored everything the tiny town had to offer and there was honestly only so much dog walking, skateboarding, and sitting at the diner that Louis could do. It said something that Louis was legitimately _excited_ for school to start up in late August. Perhaps his mum had really been onto something by sending Louis here. With all of his newfound free time, he was probably going to end up being a fucking honors student.

Mark said that Louis could drive the pickup to school on the first day, but since Louis actually had self-respect and integrity and preferred not to end his life trapped in that metal hellhole, he declined the offer, opting instead to walk. It honestly wasn’t like it was all that far from the house and Louis had stayed in decent enough shape during the summer what with all of that damn dog walking.

As usual, Louis’ trainers were soaked through by the time he ended up in the high school parking lot. He had a few minutes to spare before the first bell, which gave Louis plenty of time to ruminate over how much he hated this godforsaken Washington town and all that it represented. Louis hated the rain. Louis hated small town living. Louis hated knowing his neighbors. Louis quite possibly hated America and the pilgrims and the American War of Independence. Louis was so deep in thoughts of hatred that he almost didn’t see him. 

_Almost_.

It was the sort of moment Louis didn’t even think happened in real life. Louis felt as though he could hear a choir singing, complete with the swell of chords and an opening in the rainclouds. Butterflies were fluttering unbidden through his stomach and the air was punched out of his lungs. It sounded silly, it didn’t even sound real, but the guy was _that_ drop dead, unapologetically, unfairly gorgeous. 

He was the most beautiful person Louis had ever laid eyes on.

The guy was sitting on the other side of the parking lot, lounged against a very new and very expensive red sports car. He was a little shorter than average height, but still long and lean, with tanned brown skin and black hair tucked under a gray beanie. He had a cigarette in his mouth, but it was unlit, and he snatched it from between his lips to chat animatedly with a brunet that had his back turned to Louis. 

Louis watched the good-looking boy for a few moments, committing everything about the boy to memory. He was wearing blue Docs, which meant he was clearly more practical than Louis, and an Avengers T-shirt, which meant he had good taste. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, which Louis guessed made sense, considering it would be 21°C later, but the fact that he had his arms exposed meant that Louis could trace the lines of ink on his skin. Were all American boys this attractive? Louis hadn’t thought so, not with how stupid and obnoxious the boys at the hardware store had been when Louis popped in. But Louis was certainly glad God had made an exception with this one. _God must have spent a little extra time on you_ , Jesus Christ. 

The brunet that model boy was talking to reached out and ran his hands over the guy’s arm. Just as quickly as the mental choir had started, the song hit a wrong note and cut off entirely, sending Louis’ emotions plummeting in a free-fall. Louis was quite possibly screaming internally. 

_Of course_ the most beautiful person in the entire world would have a boyfriend. Of fucking course. That’s how life worked. That’s what Forks was all about. He was in purgatory — or hell, Louis hadn’t decided which yet. Louis was a fucking idiot.

Forks sucked. America sucked, too. The pilgrims were assholes. Louis wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Donny and start his real life up again.

 

Louis made his way into his Bio class, annoyed and eagerly anticipating lunch. He’d been in a strop ever since he saw the beautiful boy in the parking lot, and the day hadn’t improved much from there. He spent a solid hour in the counselor’s office, listening to her explain the differences between college in the UK and high school here in America, as though Louis hadn’t been binge watching _Gossip Girl_ , _The OC_ , and _Laguna Beach_ , meaning he was fully educated in American culture and totally knew what it meant to go to school here. Once Louis was finally freed from his counselor’s clutches, he had the pleasure of introducing himself in every goddamn class because Forks was small enough that everyone had been going to school together for the past eleven years and actually gave a shit about things like The New Kid. Around this point, a few enterprising students took it upon themselves to be Louis’ new best friend, pulling their chairs close to him during their English group assignment and badgering him with all sorts of questions about the UK. Louis tried to ignore how stupid it was that they were already being tasked with group assignments on the first day back and instead regaled his classmates with tales of cheating on his girlfriend with his best friend Maxxie and getting hit by a car and how difficult it was to learn how to write again, but then one of the students finally caught on that he was recapping seasons one and two of _Skins_ and not talking about his own life and that put an end to the fun.

So by the time Bio finally came around right before lunch, Louis was done with this whole education thing. He could drop out without having completed his A-levels or graduating from an American high school. He could go out for a reality show or something. Maybe try his hand at being a pop star slash songwriter. It sounded like an ace idea, actually.

Louis was busy imaging this alternate universe where he was fabulously wealthy and had somehow gotten his hands on a replica Iron Man costume when he saw him again. Beautiful boy. Model boy. The most gorgeous boy Louis had ever seen but who apparently was also in a relationship because the universe was cruel and Forks was hell.

“Your seats are assigned,” the teacher called out in a sing-song, raising an eyebrow when Louis continued to stare at model boy from the doorway. Louis blushed and walked up to the teacher’s desk where she had taped the seat assignments. Louis found his name and counted the rows, the breath almost whooshing out of him when he realized he would be sitting next to model boy who was apparently named — Louis glanced down again — _Zayn_. Zayn Malik.

Louis steeled himself and made his way over to his seat, smiling beatifically at model boy who apparently didn’t even notice Louis’ presence at all. They had window seats and model boy was gazing determinedly at a brown paper bag skittering around outside by the bleachers. 

“Hello,” Louis said, turning in his seat and trying to will model boy to look at him. “Erm. I’m Louis? Louis Tomlinson.”

Model boy didn’t tear his eyes away from the paper bag, but he did clear his throat and shuffle in his chair almost nervously. “I’m Zayn.”

Louis almost fell out of his seat at the rough, familiar accent that came flowing out of Zayn’s mouth. “Are you Northern? How in the hell did you end up in Forks?”

Zayn still didn’t look away from the floating brown paper bag where it had now gotten trapped between two rows of bleachers. Louis wondered dimly whether paper bags were Zayn’s aesthetic or something. Maybe Zayn walked around with a video camera like in _American Beauty_. He seemed like the type. “Family moved here a few years ago. I’m originally from Bradford.”

“Ace,” Louis said. “I’m a Yorkshire boy, too. From Doncaster. My mum shipped me out here to live with me stepdad. Perhaps you could show me around, yeah?”

Zayn scrunched up his nose and pursed his lips. Even pouting, he was the most ridiculously attractive person on the whole planet. Louis couldn’t believe how fucking enchanted he was by this guy. “Nah, don’t think I can, mate. I’m actually thinking about switching out of this class entirely, so.” 

And just like that, Zayn stood, sweeping his books into his arms, grabbing his bag, and making his way out of the classroom.

Louis watched him go and felt himself die a little for the second time that day.

 

“You actually got him to talk? It’s like, well known that Zayn Malik doesn’t _talk_.”

Louis wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but he’d ended up eating lunch with some of the people from his English class. They were all nice enough, he supposed, but Louis also had the distinct impression that they were the “popular” kids from the way everyone else in the cafeteria watched them with both intense intrigue and deep loathing.

Sitting across from Louis were Matt and Aiden, who both had nice hair and apparently did drama together. To Louis’ right was Eleanor, who smiled a lot and looked like prom queen material, and on Louis’ left was Nick, who was a fucking useless knob as far as Louis could tell. They all said that Louis was funny, though, which Louis knew about himself, obviously, but the whole thing was _weird_. Louis had never been popular. Louis was loud and obnoxious, yeah, and back in Donny he had amassed a bit of a clique, but he also recognized that he wasn’t exactly the type of person parents liked their kids hanging around with. He’d fully anticipated coming here to Forks and being the designated weird loser. But everyone kept wanting to talk to him and ask him stupid fucking questions about British slang and the metric system and it was just odd and a little intrusive. He felt like a circus animal.

But at least Louis had got the conversation to move away from himself and his personal life to a discussion about Zayn Malik.

Zayn was sat on the other side of the cafeteria along with the brunet he’d been talking to earlier in the parking lot and a blonde haired guy who was eating approximately three servings of today’s lunch special. The blonde and the brunet kind of seemed couple-y, sitting close to each other and swapping food every so often, but that didn’t seem right since Zayn and the brunet had been having a moment this morning. Perhaps Louis had gotten his signals all crossed? Maybe Zayn, model boy and clearly the love of Louis’ life, wasn’t actually in a relationship? Maybe Louis had a chance? Although it was ridiculous Louis was even thinking this. He hadn’t come to Forks to fuck the first good-looking guy he’d met and he certainly didn't need a boyfriend. Even though it might be nice to have one. 

Louis actually wasn’t sure what the hell was going on in his head.

“They’re all brothers,” Eleanor explained, following Louis’ line of sight. “The brown-haired one is Liam and the blond is Niall. But it’s weird as fuck, right? It’s a pretty open secret here that Liam and Niall are dating.”

Louis turned back to the group, his mouth dropping. Louis could not remember any mentions of incest when he was watching _Laguna Beach_. What was _wrong_ with Americans? “No way.”

Aiden, who already seemed like the most practical out of the lot, nodded. “They are, though. But they’re not related by blood. They were all adopted and live in this massive house not far from the elementary school.”

“Hold on,” Louis said, holding his hand up and racking his brain. “That big house with all of the solar panels and shit?”

“That’s the one,” Aiden replied solemnly. “They’re completely loaded. They moved here a few years ago from England. So like you, I suppose. But they’re quiet, keep to themselves. So it really is a big deal you got Zayn to talk to you. I don’t think I’ve heard him utter more than three words the whole time he’s been here.”

“It wasn’t much of a conversation,” Louis admitted. “I told him it would be nice if he showed me around. You know, one Yorkshire boy to another. And he was just like, ‘Nah, can’t do it, mate.’”

Nick snorted. “He’s a dick. The whole lot of them are. Stuck up, standoffish, and snobby. I wouldn’t take it too personally.”

Louis hummed, fighting down the urge to say something snappy to Nick, and instead let his eyes slide back across the cafeteria. Liam and Niall both seemed to be deep in conversation, heads bent close together over their lunch. Brothers _and_ lovers. Louis certainly hadn’t been expecting something so fucking wild when he moved out to Forks.

But when Louis let his eyes stop to consider Zayn again, it was to the realization that Zayn was already watching him. Maybe Zayn knew that they had been talking about him, too. Zayn seemed like the type to just know shit like that — to be able to read minds and situations. Louis felt a shudder tear through his body and Zayn smiled at him, as quick and wicked as a summer thunderstorm.

Louis didn’t mind, though. He just smirked right back.

 

To Louis’ mum’s dismay, Louis did not become an academic genius the mere moment he stepped foot on American soil. Louis wasn’t taking any AP classes and his high school didn’t offer IB options, but he did decide to go out for the varsity football — _soccer_ — team just so he could have something to do, and he needed to keep his grades up for that. So he was doing the bare minimum academically, trying to achieve a little bit more with sports so he could be captain next year, and then spending his weekends smoking pot with Aiden and Eleanor and trying to learn how to deal with consistently wet Vans.

But because it was high school, life wasn’t as simple as just going to class and then hanging out with friends on the weekend. Louis still had to negotiate his space and relationship with Mark, who was insistent that Louis couldn’t get away with deferring chores, and Louis also had to deal with the fact that he was consistently full of blinding hot rage for no real reason. So life in Forks was a bit of a balancing act — walking Freddie first thing in the morning while chatting with his mum and sisters on Whatsapp, doing chores right after practice, and then also trying to find the time to head down to Mark’s diner and behave like a normal human being. 

Mark had finally made good on his word to get Louis a work permit, and Louis had no choice but to make himself useful at the small restaurant Mark and his mate owned. It was pretty dull work more often than not — waiting tables, washing dishes, and then sweeping the front lobby after closing. The diner had a British flair and the clientele mainly consisted of older locals who liked the novelty of chatting up expats. Mark put on replays of Man U games and talked with people about how the UK had gone to shit (like the States were any better) and every so often some of Louis’ classmates came in, too. That was one thing Louis did appreciate about Forks — so much of the town was low income, and so many of the kids at school were eligible for free lunches, so there was no shame in the fact that Louis worked after school. It was expected, almost. So Louis understood when his mates ordered fish and chips but didn’t give him that great of a tip, and they understood when he said he wasn’t able to get them free food. Everything was a hustle and Louis liked that he didn’t have to pretend that it wasn’t.

But as the school year trudged onward, Louis started to notice that Zayn and his adopted brothers Niall and Liam were coming by the diner fairly frequently. It was odd. There were nicer places in town for them to go to, like the coffee shop and that Italian restaurant that had just opened up along 101. The boys didn’t order much, either, and Louis was sure they had nicer things to eat at their solar panel monstrosity of a house. It just — Mark’s restaurant didn’t seem like the sort of place they would come for revising and fish and chips. They looked like the sort of lads who went to posh restaurants to order filet mignon, medium well, thank you.

Louis probably wouldn’t have minded their presence if it weren’t for the annoying fact that Zayn still wasn’t _talking_ to Louis. Zayn hadn’t even dropped their shared Biology class like he’d said on the first day, so they still sat next to each other. But Louis had overheard Zayn trying to switch seats one day before class, going on about Louis being a distraction. How the hell could Louis be a distraction when they never even communicated, when Zayn ignored Louis’ very existence? Even when they had partner assignments, Zayn just did all of the work before pushing his paper over for Louis to copy. Zayn didn’t even bat an eye when Louis tried to confront him about the silent treatment. He just shrugged and continued doodling aliens in the corner of his notebook. It was maddening.

So Zayn wasn’t talking to Louis, but he came by Mark’s diner at least three times a week and let Niall or Liam order for him and then stared at Louis as he wiped down the counter and got a head start on the sweeping. Hell, Zayn was fucking everywhere, really. Louis would see him while walking Freddie in the morning. Louis would loop by the elementary school and catch Zayn smoking pot on his porch, a beanie jammed on his head while he waved idly. And then Louis would see him again in class, where Zayn would just pass over the coursework for Louis to copy, and at lunch Louis would catch Zayn staring at him from across the cafeteria. After school during varsity practice, Louis frequently caught himself glancing over to the bleachers, and Zayn would be there _again_ , balancing a sketchpad on his knees even as it drizzled around him. It seemed wildly impractical, creepy, and strangely flattering all at the same time. 

Louis would almost think that Zayn was _stalking_ him, that maybe Zayn liked him but couldn’t quite muster up the courage to hold a legitimate conversation. Louis would think these things, but then he would remember that Zayn hadn’t spoken to Louis in actual weeks, and the thoughts would go floating away, washed away in the rain. 

 

It was coming on October when Aiden invited Louis and the other lads out to Seattle to see The Black Keys. It was funny — kids in Forks treated Seattle like it was this huge, mythical city, and now that Louis had spent a few months in the godforsaken town, Louis could understand why. There was literally nothing to do in Forks if you didn’t love fishing and hard drugs. So Louis leapt at the opportunity to get out of Clallam County for a while, checking in with Mark to make sure it was okay to take a night off from the diner. 

Aiden graciously undertook the four hour drive in his dad’s station wagon, and Nick was old as shit so he had booked them a hotel room for the night. They pre-gamed a bit in the hotel before making their way to KeyArena, smoking pot and drinking shots of whiskey until they couldn’t feel their fingertips, their lips, their emotions. It wound up being a great show, at least what Louis could remember of it. Louis was crossfaded off his ass, still taking surreptitious shots with Nick (even though Nick was still an arse) and trying to evade Eleanor’s desperate attempts to hook up. The music was thumping through his veins and the lights were bright and Louis felt young and invincible, like a caged animal finally freed from the bars keeping him locked in. 

Hell, it was quite possibly the most fun Louis had had since making his way to fucking Washington.

Until, naturally, Louis ended up vomiting all over the pavement on 1st Avenue North. He felt as though he were retching forever, coughing up the overpriced chicken tenders he had ordered at the arena, part of the burger he’d gotten on the drive up, and potentially even the cake from his 12th birthday. When Louis finally looked up again, his head felt heavy as he scanned the crowd around him. He felt completely disoriented, trying to make out individual faces, but none of the people streaming by looked familiar.

Louis felt the trill of panic first in his heart and then in his gut.

“Aiden?” Louis called, wiping sick off of his face with the back of his hand. People were walking by and looking at him in disdain — underage drunk boy reeking of vomit, Louis could understand why — but none of these people were his friends and Louis was trying not to freak out. Not when he couldn’t remember the name of his hotel or the street it was on. Not when he was all alone in a big city he’d only ever been in once before. “El? Fucking hell. _Nick_?”

His friends were nowhere to be found. His fucking fake Forks friends, people who only wanted to hang out with him because it was cool to take in the New Kid, people who just wanted to hang out at his dad’s diner and say that they could get free milkshakes even though they never did. These fake fucking friends had abandoned him while he was vomiting his guts out outside of KeyArena. What awesome people.

Louis sniffled and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. The battery was low and service was shit since there were so many people in the area, but he could make it work. Maybe in a few minutes he’d get a call and El would come jogging back, smiling apologetically because she was still obsessed with the idea of being prom king and queen. Or maybe he could walk around for a bit and then call Aiden to come get him. Or he could walk around and then he would magically remember where he was supposed to be staying and he wouldn’t need to call them at all. Or he could walk all the way back to Forks because his friends had abandoned him in the middle of fucking Seattle and they were all shit anyway and Louis didn’t want anything to do with them, and Mark would find him on the road and call his mum and she would be so upset that she’d demand his immediate return to Doncaster. 

Louis was about to start drunk crying in the middle of the street, could feel the itch of tears in his eyes and throat, when he felt someone grab his shoulder. Louis turned, hoping that it was Aiden or Eleanor or someone else come to rescue him. 

What Louis was _not_ expecting to see was Zayn Malik.

Louis huffed out a long breath, not entirely sure if he was pleased or dismayed. He wasn’t a cliche — someone who waited around for Prince Charming to come rescue him. Louis was independent, with his own dreams and hopes and aspirations completely separate from finding a partner and living happily ever after. Because it was stupid to wait around for people, especially when everyone you loved always left. But at the same time, Louis could admit that he was happy to see Zayn there. A familiar face in the crowd.

So Louis was happy. Also drunk and a little belligerent. 

“You do know that stalking is very much illegal, right?” Louis asked. “And it looks like you’ve been following me, Mr. Zayn Malik.”

Zayn frowned and rolled his eyes, grabbing Louis and leading him away from the arena. “Aren’t you supposed to be here with your friends?” Zayn asked. This was the first time he’d really spoken to Louis since August. “Where are they?”

“Dunno,” Louis murmured. “Lost them. But how did you know I was here with me mates?”

Zayn muttered darkly, “They hardly seem like mates now, having abandoned you outside of a concert and all.” Which yeah, true. “Where were you all staying?”

Louis shrugged and tried to keep pace with Zayn’s long, sure steps. “Dunno. Does it matter? But like honestly. How did you know I was here with my friends? Were you following me?”

Zayn looked off into the distance. It was very brooding and kind of annoying and not at all attractive. “I wasn’t following you.”

“You just happened to be in the neighborhood?” Louis scoffed. “Just happened to be in Seattle? You’re a — you’re a knob. That’s what you are.”

Zayn blinked at Louis, his eyes sharpening. They’d come to a stop at an intersection and people were pushing past them as they tried to cross the street. “I saw you retching your brains out, but are you still drunk? You’re slurring your words something awful.”

“NO!” Louis shrieked.

“You do know that the legal age to drink in the States is 21. Not ‘old enough to see over the bar.’ You could get in serious trouble, being intoxicated in public like this.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Louis said, finding himself pulled along when Zayn resumed walking. Louis realized distantly that he had no idea where they were going, but the thought didn’t terrify him at all. “You’re so funny. And also a knob who is trying to deflect from the real topic at hand!”

“I am not a knob and I’m not deflecting! I love concerts.” Zayn was perhaps the worst liar in the history of the entire universe. He hadn’t even bothered trying to speak convincingly. But, in his defense, he did also seem very distracted, his eyes darting every which way as he attempted to navigate the crowds. They were steadily making their way toward a small parking lot and Louis thought that he could pick out the impractical but very hot red sports car that Zayn frequently drove to school.

“Really?” Louis asked, quirking an eyebrow. Or at least attempting to. Despite what Louis had exclaimed, he was well aware that he was still very, very drunk. Vomiting hadn’t done much to rid himself of that. “What band was playing?”

Zayn blanched and spent the next five minutes patting his pockets for a pack of cigarettes and then his keys. Louis watched him and fought against the urge to scream in his face, demanding answers.

“Well, if you insist upon stalking me and not taking me back to my friends, the least you could do is get me some KFC and take me home,” Louis pointed out. “Since apparently my life is an awful teen romance. But love, I am sorry to tell you that you are _not_ going to get lucky tonight.”

“Wouldn’t want to sleep with you tonight anyway,” Zayn remarked mildly. “I would want you to actually remember the earth shattering orgasms I’d give you.”

Louis sputtered and apparently forgot how to remain upright, as his legs went slamming down against the concrete while Zayn swore above him.

 

The next morning, Louis woke up feeling as though someone had scooped his brain out, put his grey matter in a blender, let Freddie have a taste, and then returned the remains to the inside of his skull. Meaning that he felt absolutely, positively wretched. Louis never wanted to drink again. Unless someone brought him a Bloody Mary right at that very instant. He’d probably drink that.

“Morning sunshine,” a voice rasped from somewhere near Louis’ closet. Louis started, turning over in his bed and then getting all caught up in the sheets. He was too fucking hungover for this and his limbs all felt extraordinarily heavy. Not to mention the fact that his knees hurt and he couldn’t quite remember why. When Louis finally, blearily, got himself back in order, he blinked in the direction of his closet and made out a blurry, dark haired figure. Louis sighed to himself, banging on the table by his bed for a few moments before pushing his glasses onto his face with a satisfied hum. Zayn suddenly came into focus, looking refreshed and lovely where he was playing with Freddie on the floor.

Louis garbled something that vaguely resembled a greeting. Zayn grinned.

“Left something for your headache on the bed stand there,” Zayn mumbled, gesturing with his arm while Freddie rolled around on Zayn’s lap.

Louis felt relief and gratitude flood through his system as he made out the bottle of paracetamol and glass of water by his lamp. “Cheers,” Louis replied, chugging the drugs down and waiting for them to gradually take effect.

It was raining outside, same as it always fucking was, but Louis could also make out a break in the clouds. Little chips of sunshine were filtering through Louis’ windows, dancing over Zayn’s legs and hands. Zayn looked so beautiful. It was so very early in the morning, but Zayn looked warm, comforting, and just so very beautiful.

“Thank you for bringing me home last night,” Louis started. “I — I was absolutely pissed.”

“It was no problem,” Zayn answered with a shrug. “You remembered how to get back here and that was all that mattered, really. Your dad was nice, too, said I could kip on the floor if I was concerned that you weren’t all right. Your friends didn’t even call until we’d already gotten back to Forks and I’d had you all settled in bed.”

Louis gulped. “They called?”

Zayn hummed, but it wasn’t a particularly warm sound. “Yeah, they did. I texted them back, let them know that I had gotten you home safe and their belated, faux concern would be noted.”

Louis winced. He didn’t even know Zayn was capable of such acerbity. “Ouch.”

“They’re the ones who left you all alone in Seattle,” Zayn huffed, his face softening when Freddie licked a stripe over his cheek. “That’s — it wasn’t right. You deserve better friends.”

“Like you?” It didn’t feel right that Zayn was making these grand proclamations about Louis’ friends when Zayn hadn’t even been capable of talking to Louis for _weeks_ but whatever. Everyone in this fucking town sucked to one degree or another. Maybe that was just high school.

Zayn gently nudged Freddie off of his lap and stood, smiling apologetically when the dog began to whine. “I don’t want to be your friend,” Zayn said. “I thought it was glaringly obvious I want far more out of you than that. But if it wasn’t glaring, I can work on remedying that. ”

Louis was sure that his mouth dropped completely, just like in a cartoon. Zayn smirked, and just like that, he turned out of Louis’ room and was gone. 

 

“He’s a knob. Zayn and the rest of his weird ‘family’. Everyone says so.”

Louis sighed, fanning his eyes against the sun. It was November but due to climate change it was actually a fairly nice day. A rare warm and cloudless one with absolutely no rain in sight. Mark’s friend and business partner was having an American style barbecue at her house and Mark insisted that Louis tag along. Louis was pleased to realize that Mark’s friend, Anne, had children around Louis’ age, and was even more excited to realize that one of them was a gorgeous boy named Harry.

“Your family actually used to come spend summers here in Washington,” Harry had answered when Louis admitted that the curly haired boy looked vaguely familiar. “Although God knows why when there are so many nicer places to vacation in the world.”

And suddenly the pieces had all snapped into place. Lottie was tiny and the twins weren’t born yet, but Louis had distinct memories of playing in the mud with a boy with piercing green eyes. That boy had straight blonde hair and wore hand-me-down sweaters that he cuffed at the wrist, but people changed, Louis knew that. And while Harry’s hair was brown and curly these days, the searching intensity of his gaze had not dissipated over the years.

So Harry and Louis settled out in the meadow in the back of Harry’s sprawling property and got to talking. Harry went to a different high school than Louis did, so they swapped stories about the failing American educational system and how they both needed to invest in a decent pair of Wellies. It was nice, comfortable, almost felt like they hadn’t ever stopped being friends, even though they obviously hadn’t talked in years and years. 

They somehow got on the topic of Louis’ trip to Seattle last month and how pretty boy Zayn had rescued Louis from almost certain death (or at least intense disorientation) and got him back home safe and sound. Louis hadn’t had the chance to talk to anyone else about that night. Aiden, El, Nick, and the others were all treating him like an outcast now — insisted that him getting separated from the group was his fault and that they hadn’t been responsible for needing to keep an eye over him. They’d also reacted poorly to Zayn’s text message and essentially exiled him from their table at the cafeteria. So it was nice that Louis was able to bounce his thoughts off Harry instead. 

Louis had been thinking about him a lot lately. About Zayn. About how he didn’t talk to anyone, but he’d won over Freddie. About his piercing eyes and how they seemed to sense more about Louis than what he was willing to vocalize. About how he said he didn’t want to be Louis’ friend — he wanted to be something more. Louis had thought about it, in between doing his coursework and helping out at the diner and the million and one other things he needed to be doing, and Louis felt like he probably wanted something more, too. It was heady and intoxicating and suffocating and everything Louis had ever heard about relationships being, made his hands go cold and clammy, stomach topsy-turvy with expectation. 

At the mere mention of Zayn’s name, though, Harry’s eyes had clouded over, his open face darkening entirely.

“Why does everyone think him and his family are knobs?” Louis asked genuinely. “I know his brothers are a bit weird but that’s not really a reason.”

Harry shrugged a little helplessly. “I just — I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“But you’re the one who brought it up,” Louis pointed out. “The one who said that he was a knob and I shouldn’t bother with him.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“So what should I do? Date you?”

“No, I never said that,” Harry said, but he also couldn’t quite seem to meet Louis’ gaze. Louis wasn’t sure what he was supposed to make out of that.

Louis sighed and bemoaned his existence. “Well, you’ve certainly presented a compelling case as for why I shouldn’t bother with him. I mean — how do you even know him? From what I’ve seen, he’s not that bad. Socially awkward, definitely, and a little stalker-y, maybe, but there are worse things he could be. He could be like — like a werewolf or something.”

Harry sat up suddenly, scaring the fuck out of a squirrel that had been skipping around nearby as his eyes darted around the meadow nervously. “Has anyone said anything to you about that? About — like, about werewolves?”

Louis frowned, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “What are you on about?”

“Nothing!” Harry squeaked, flopping back against the meadow.

Louis scoffed. “You’re really odd, Harold.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Eh, it should be,” Louis remarked idly before sobering again. “But really, Harry. What have you heard? I don’t want to leap into anything here if Zayn has like a reputation or something.”

Harry was drumming his fingers on his stomach, a steady prrrumm prrrumm that shouldn’t have been as soothing as it was. The sun felt so nice — hell, it felt like Louis hadn’t seen the damn thing in years with how much it normally rained in Forks — and Louis could smell meat and veggies cooking on Anne’s grill on the porch. Birds were trilling, Louis was going to get a tan, and he was laid up on the grass next to a pretty boy who looked at him with awe and excitement. 

Things seemed perfect but they weren’t. They weren’t perfect because Louis’ thoughts were entirely consumed by Zayn, the boy who looked like a model and had money like a royal, the boy who had saved him last month and was now respectfully keeping his distance. And things weren’t perfect because the charming curly haired lad laid next to him on the meadow was probably going to crush all of his dreams anyway. 

“You’re going to think it’s silly,” Harry started hesitantly. “And maybe it is. But I’m on the reservation a lot, and they talk, you know. About Zayn Malik and the rest of his family. They call them ‘the Cold Ones’.”

Louis furrowed his brow. “The Cold Ones? What the hell is that?”

Harry frowned at Louis. “Have you never read _Twilight_?”

Louis snorted. “Do I look like I read books? Come on now, Harry.”

“Still, though,” Harry persisted. “You live in Forks. You would think it’s like required reading.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Well, if you read the bloody books you would,” Harry retorted. “Edward Cullen — he’s one of the Cold Ones.”

Louis blinked, the wheels turning ever so slowly in his brain. “Vampires. You’re talking about vampires.” Harry nodded hesitantly. “You’re saying that some of your Quileute friends think that Zayn is a vampire.”

Harry sat back up and cuffed the back of his neck nervously. “I knew you were going to think it’s silly — ”

“Nah,” Louis interrupted, waving his hands as excitement zapped through his veins. “Nah, this is _wicked_.” 

 

The deceptively warm November afternoons gradually gave way to the lashing rain of winter, Louis’ days in Forks coming to be characterized by strong winds and bouts of hail. Louis helped Mark dig out old Christmas decorations from the back of the living room closet, the two of them stringing up lights that were half burnt out and putting a wreath out on the door while Freddie yapped around their ankles and tried to eat up the bristles that had fallen onto the floor.

The football season was over and Louis was spending more and more time at the diner. It was probably for the best, especially now that Louis had effectively been shunned by the popular kids. It was for the best, probably, but it also meant that he didn’t really have any friends now. Because Zayn still hardly talked to him, just grinned slyly during Bio and dropped innuendos that had Louis flushing hot underneath his parka. And beyond Zayn, there wasn’t really anyone else around for Louis to talk to at school. Louis was an outcast loser, just like he had anticipated being when he first moved to Forks. There was a time when the realization would’ve made Louis angry, lashing out indiscriminately and drinking too much. But Louis decided he would just get on with his work, bowing his head and doing what he needed to do to scrape by.

On the bright side, Louis probably had a solid chance of become varsity captain next year. Coach Cowell really liked him and Louis lead in goals scored during the season. It was a minor accomplishment, one that Louis would have to wait until next year to really see the fruits of, but whatever.

Louis could admit to himself that he was lonely. There was only so much time a man could spend with his dog, after all. And even though Harry’s strange words from the warm November days were rattling around inside of his brain, Zayn was there for Louis like no one else was. In his own strange way, of course. Letting Louis copy his notes during Bio when Louis got a bit lost in his own daydreams, and then popping by the diner in the evening before closing. Zayn had even been known to drive all the way to Port Angeles just to grab Louis some KFC. The spicy chicken would be cold by the time Zayn came back, same as the mashed potatoes, American biscuits, and gravy, but they’d eat it together anyway, shoulders brushing as they sat in Zayn’s car, a soft Kid Cudi song playing while the engine hummed underneath them. They never talked besides Louis mumbling that he wanted Zayn to stop hogging the bucket, but it was _nice_. A companionable silence that temporarily quieted all of the jabbering in Louis’ head, distilled all of the confusion and frustration into something almost bearable.

Zayn’s idea of courtship — or whatever the fuck he was doing — was kind of weird and creepy, but Louis appreciated that he was trying. 

Louis couldn’t get Harry’s words out of his head, though. It was mental — the insinuation that vampires were real and that _Zayn_ of all people was one of them. Louis wanted to laugh the whole thing off, but more often than not, Louis would stay up late at night, Googling things on his beat-up laptop or reading articles on his phone and then cursing loudly whenever he accidentally dropped the damn thing on his face. 

Because despite his first knee-jerk reaction, excitement at the idea of knowing a real life vampire, Louis really wanted to be sure that Harry’s words were bullshit. That there was no way in hell that Zayn could be one of these things — one of these Cold Ones from the damn _Twilight_ books. Zayn couldn’t be a vampire. That was just — it was preposterous. Vampires didn’t fucking love KFC. Vampires didn’t hit on lonely losers like Louis. Fuck — vampires didn’t even exist. If they did, Louis was certain he would’ve already encountered one during his hell raising days back in Donny. 

But that being said, it did feel like the pieces were slowly start to put themselves together. How Zayn was never at school on the nicer, sunnier days. Louis remembered that Zayn’d been out sick a lot in November during that random blip of pleasant weather. Also nobody seemed to know exactly where Zayn’s family came from and what they did for a living. Zayn didn’t really look like he’d aged over the last few years, if the yearbook photos Louis had gotten his hands on were anything to go off of. And nobody was close to Zayn and his other family members. They were social outcasts, same as Louis. Nobody had ever talked to Zayn for more than a few sentences at a time and people still seemed in awe of Louis, at the fact that he could hold complete conversations with Zayn on occasion. 

It was — it was fucking weird. Louis didn’t like thinking about it too hard. 

Which, of course, meant he didn’t seem capable of thinking about anything else.

 

Christmas announced its arrival with a hail storm. Louis was pleased to wake up that morning with Freddie licking his face and presents sitting underneath his and Mark’s tiny plastic tree. His mum had sent along some jumpers and toys for Freddie and Louis tried not to feel too poorly about the fact that there wasn’t enough money for him to go back to see his sisters during the break. Mark said they would have enough saved for Louis to fly back to London for the summer, but Louis wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Plane tickets were expensive and the diner was just barely breaking even. Louis understood that money was tight.

They’d gotten through all of the boxes under the tree when Louis schlepped back up to his room, smiling when Freddie followed him up. He felt warm and sleepy, wanted to nap the rest of the day away with Freddie tucked into his side.

But there, on Louis’ bed, was a box covered in black wrapping paper with a green bow. Louis looked around himself skeptically before frowning, snatching the box from on top of his duvet and tearing the wrapping paper off, throwing the detritus on top of his mattress. 

Louis damn near tossed the box across the room once he realized what it was. Instead, he just stared at it, his hands trembling as he took the gift in.

“Mark?” Louis called. “MARK?!”

Louis could hear Mark trudge up the stairs, Freddie yapping with excitement when the man appeared in Louis’ doorway.

“What’d I tell you about yelling?” Mark tsked. “The house isn’t that big that I can’t hear you call at a normal speaking volume.”

Louis shrugged before brandishing the box in Mark’s face. “Sorry. Mark, did you give me this?”

Mark whistled, taking the box in hand. “That Malik boy dropped it off at the diner last week and said it was for you. Didn’t realize what it was, otherwise I would’ve kept it for myself.”

Louis rolled his eyes and thanked Mark, who returned downstairs to watch _Independence Day_ or whatever it was he was doing. Louis kicked the wrapping paper off the bed before settling back against his pillows, running his hand over the leather All Saints jacket Zayn had gifted him. It kind of resembled a jacket that Zayn had worn to class a few times, one that Louis had offhandedly remarked “looked nice.”

Louis had never owned a leather jacket before and it seemed like an impractical gift considering how rainy it was here in Forks. It also felt like Zayn was trying to mark Louis somehow — show everyone else in town that Louis was his. Louis wasn’t — Louis was his own person. Louis refused to belong to anyone and he didn’t need fancy gifts in order to be happy. 

But at the same time, Louis didn’t mind that Zayn was buying him gifts and talking to Mark when Louis wasn’t around. Louis didn’t mind that Zayn was trying to win him over, piece by piece. There was so much already rattling through Louis’ head, so many uncertainties and annoyances and adolescent bullshit that he needed to navigate, so it was nice knowing that somewhere out there, someone was thinking about him.

A beautiful, smart, quiet someone.

Louis fingered the soft leather in his hands and pulled the jacket on top of his PJs. 

 

Winter break came and went and before Louis knew it he was back in school and preparing for the SATs. It was annoying, having to learn and revise for all of these damn tests that would determine his future. Louis figured he should probably care more, should be aiming higher, but Louis also knew there were a lot of options out there. He could always return home to his mum and his sisters after he ended up graduating. Hell, he could look into playing football here in the States — Coach seemed to think he had a good chance at being picked up by a university. And if that didn’t work out, he could stay here in Washington and go to a community college. Or maybe he could travel down the coast, find his way to Los Angeles, to sunny skies and endless opportunity. He was so young and the world was so big, just there for the taking.

Louis and Zayn still weren’t properly friends, but they were working on a presentation together for Bio, and sometimes they really, legitimately talked. Louis still had nagging worries in the back of his head, his mind flitting over the Cold Ones on occasion, but it was nice, and Zayn started to fill in some of the gaps of his life. Louis already knew he was from Bradford and that his brothers were adopted, but Zayn began to murmur about his love of comics, how he’d always devoured books because it used to be easier than having to deal with the trouble at home. The way Zayn told it, Louis surmised that Zayn had grown up in a group home that got shut down by NSPCC before getting taken in by the family he lived with now and moving out of the country. It was a depressing story, really. Louis could understand why Zayn didn’t always feel the need to vocalize his thoughts, especially if he’d lived so much of his life being told he didn’t have anything of importance to say.

Louis felt almost compelled to fill Zayn’s days with brightness after that one day of murmured secrets and shared discovery. Louis couldn’t really cook, but he’d given baking a go just so he could bring in a cupcake for Zayn. Louis also took to doodling on the corner of Zayn’s notebook — silly things, really, just stick figures on skateboards and games of tic-tac-toe. 

And then one day in February Louis brought in a Power Ranger valentine along with a candy and set the gifts on top of the seat next to his, waiting for Zayn to speed walk in right before the bell rang. And Zayn did, darting in before the teacher started roll, his face softening at the cheesy little children’s gift waiting for him.

“What’s this then?” Zayn asked, turning the card over and blinking up at Louis in the small, devastating way that always made Louis’ heart sputter and stop.

“Realized I never did properly thank you for the jacket you gave me for Christmas,” Louis answered. “It was really nice. I can’t afford something quite so indulgent, so. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Zayn’s eyes were like little pools of sunshine. Louis probably didn’t ever need to leave Olympia in search of better weather if it meant that he could look at Zayn all day. “Cheers, Lou. Erm. That reminds me. I had something I wanted to ask you.”

Louis let his eyes drift over to consider the teacher. She was talking about the lesson plan for the day but she wasn’t paying Zayn and Louis any mind. “Yeah?”

“Would you come over to mine for Valentine’s Day?” Zayn asked hesitantly. “I make a mean curry.”

Louis could feel himself begin to salivate. “I haven’t had a decent curry in _ages_.”

“Mine is better than decent.”

“I’m in,” Louis said, raising his hand to fist bump Zayn’s just as the teacher turned scolding eyes at their table, a reprimand already on her tongue.

 

It was one thing to get picked up in Zayn’s expensive sports car and race along 101 back to his house. It was another thing entirely to follow Zayn into this giant mansion covered in solar panels, toeing his dirty Vans off and trying to make sense of the sprawling estate.

The house actually seemed inviting once Louis was in it. Airy and open, with sleek tiling and wide ceilings. It seemed quite excessive for only five people — Zayn, Liam, Niall, and the two adults that had taken them in, and from what Louis had heard, the adults were hardly around anyway. All of this space, all of this wealth, and yet Zayn spent his free time hanging out at Mark’s diner or driving around to grab fast food for Louis.

Zayn gave Louis a brief tour of the house, greeting Niall and Liam who were out back kicking a ball around. There were a fair amount of rooms, but Louis decided immediately that Zayn’s bedroom was his favorite. It faced the woods and the walls were almost entirely plastered over with posters — Usher, Spiderman, Beyoncé. Zayn’s heroes, obviously. His bed was large and inviting, and there were towers of books and comics teetering precipitously next to his dresser. There were also jackets everywhere, all designer like the one he’d gotten Louis.

They made their way back downstairs and into the kitchen where Zayn had left his curry on a low simmer. He puttered around a bit, pulling down plates and directing Louis over to the refrigerator where he’d gotten them things to drink. Louis was mildly disappointed there was no alcohol — he vaguely remembered the lecture Zayn had given him when they met in Seattle, but he also had gotten the impression that this was a wine and dine sort of thing. How could Zayn wine and dine him when there was only Pepsi, cranberry juice, and Gatorade to drink?

“Is this a date?” Louis asked once they got settled in the dining room. Louis was still blinking around the house a little dazedly. He had the distinct impression that the plates and cutlery they were using was more expensive than Mark’s truck. Everything about this house was just so big. And shiny. New and exciting, like a promise.

Zayn shrugged, his hazel eyes searching where they locked with Louis’. “Do you want it to be?”

Louis fidgeted in his seat. Looked around the dining room again. There were pictures of Zayn and his brothers everywhere — the boys standing along the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and then again on a rooftop in New York, the whole city serving as a backdrop behind them. Louis blinked and wondered if he could make himself at home here, if he could imagine his own picture interspersed with the others. Perhaps it was a bit crazy to ponder it, but it didn’t stop Louis from trying. 

So Louis imagined himself puttering around this house after school. Doing his homework on the dining room table while Zayn put on slow, melodic music to help them concentrate. Playing with Freddie out in the back while Zayn watched them and laughed. Pecking Zayn with kisses whenever he felt like it. Lying back on that giant bed Zayn showed him upstairs, biting into his own arm to muffle a moan while Zayn worked him open with his fingers and mouth and cock. 

Louis could feel himself blush. That particular image had never wormed its way into his brain before, but he certainly liked the idea.

“Yes,” Louis answered. “Yes, I want it to be.”

Zayn smiled, this wide blinding thing that made the whole world tilt on its axis. Louis didn’t think he’d ever seen Zayn look so pleased. “Cool. I do, too, you know.”

Louis tried not to preen as he dug back into his chicken, but he didn’t think he did a particularly good job at hiding his smile.

 

They didn’t end the evening with a nightcap. Zayn didn’t lead Louis upstairs and spread him out on the bed. They didn’t even properly hold hands. But Zayn did drop Louis off, and he did walk Louis to the front door, both of them startling when they could hear Freddie yap from the other side.

“This was nice,” Louis murmured. “I — it was the nicest date I’ve ever been on.”

“Brilliant,” Zayn answered, his voice similarly low. “You’re brilliant, I mean.” 

And just like that, Zayn leaned forward and kissed him. And Louis hadn’t thought about that internal symphony in a while, but there was a swell of strings the moment their lips met. 

 

And so as February edged into March, Louis tried not to scream out with delight over how _happy_ he was. Because he had a boyfriend — a weird, gorgeous boyfriend — and everything was sweet. Things at the diner were picking up as the weather improved, but Louis also noticed that Zayn was missing more and more days at school. It was all right — Zayn always let Louis know when he’d be out sick — but it did lead Louis to start tracking things on a little calendar he kept by his bed. Days Zayn took off and days that the temperature exceeded 18 °C. Louis knew from his maths that correlation didn’t equal causation, but Louis also remembered what Harry had told him. About vampires and how sometimes fantasy books did end up latching onto something that was really there.

 

It really wasn’t too surprising that one day things all came to a head.

It was a Saturday and Mark had let Louis have the weekend off. Louis immediately called Zayn to pick him and Freddie up, so they rode out in Zayn’s sports car to a spot along the Calawah River. It was sweet and peaceful, even though the day itself was gloomy and overcast. It felt like they had the whole world to themselves. Freddie splashed around on the banks while Zayn and Louis watched him, but Louis kept fidgeting, his hands squirming around in his lap.

“You all right?” Louis nodded, shrugged, but Zayn didn’t seem too convinced. “You sure?”

Louis coughed, squinted off in the distance like Zayn did sometimes when he didn’t want to answer a question. “It’s just — you’ve been sick an awful lot lately.”

Louis sensed rather than actually saw Zayn’s frown. “Told you. It’s just the flu.”

“It just seems odd,” Louis continued. “Your bouts of illness always seem to coincide with strings of sunny days. Do you have a sensitivity to sunlight?”

Zayn stood, walking in front of Louis before crouching again. “What are you on about?”

Louis shook his head and grabbed a tuft of grass in his hand. It used to drive his mum mad — his tendency to destroy things when he was even mildly uncomfortable. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn seemed far from convinced. Maybe Louis needed to improve on his acting, take up drama next year. “No, you seem to have a theory. Let’s hear it then.”

“I don’t have a theory,” Louis protested. “I just was curious is all.”

“Who’ve you been talking to about me?”

“Nobody.”

Zayn pursed his lips. “Nobody? You sure? Sure you haven’t been talking to Harry Styles?”

Louis felt absolutely taken aback. “How do you know about Harry Styles?”

“Mark works with his mum,” Zayn pointed out. “Also, Forks only has a population of 3600. Everyone knows about everyone.”

Louis hummed. “Why would Harry Styles have anything to say about you?”

“Dunno,” Zayn answered. “But I feel like he does. Or did. Someone’s been talking to you, got you acting all weird and tense. So let’s hear it, Lou. What’s your theory? Why am I missing so many sunny days at school?”

“Not sure, but I feel like it can’t be good for your Vitamin C intake.”

“Lou — ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis mumbled, wiping his suddenly damp palms against his jeans. Why’d he have to go and open up his big mouth? “It’s just. I dunno. It’s stupid. The idea that you could be a — ” And then Louis cut himself off, clamping down on the words so hard he felt like he was going to bite through his own tongue.

Zayn’s whole being was soft when Louis felt brave enough to look up. He felt frozen under Zayn’s calm, understanding eyes.

“Go ahead, love,” Zayn murmured, running his fingers over Louis’ wrist. “Say it.”

“A furry,” Louis blurted. Loudly, stupidly. Zayn furrowed his brow and stared at Louis. “No? Is that not right?”

Zayn’s frown deepened into an outright glare. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I’m taking it very seriously,” Louis squawked, looking around himself nervously. Now that he thought about it, this river would be the perfect place to stash a body. “So very seriously that I rather wish you were a furry than a — ”

“A what?”

Louis bit his lip and began wringing his hands in his lap again. He wished he was standing so he could jaunt in place, do that sort of nervous dance that looks like the one a child does when they have to take a wee. “A vampire.”

Zayn blinked at Louis, his eyelashes sensually gliding over the high arch of his cheekbones. And then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. All right.”

“Yeah? All right?” Louis parroted. “That’s all you have to say?” Zayn just looked at Louis, his silence ringing loud against Freddie’s splashing in the river. “So this is a real thing?” Louis continued. “It’s not just Harry Styles talking crap — it’s _really_ real?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, there’s a whole fucking book series about vampires,” Louis continued. “And a movie. Quite a few movies, actually. And tourism to Forks based on that series. So it just seems weird that a family of vampires would continue to live here considering the increased scrutiny. Because that’s what you all are, right? You and Liam and Niall? You’re all vampires?”

Zayn snorted, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “Well, I get what you’re saying. But it’s not like those tourists would know to look where it really matters. The _Twilight_ books are about shiny, sparkling vampires — ”

“So you don’t sparkle?” Louis interrupted. “This is supremely disappointing.”

Zayn glared. “No, I don’t fucking sparkle. I’m a vampire not — not a fucking _pond_. I burn if I get too much direct sunlight. That’s all. ”

“I feel like I was misled. When I signed on to this, I expected sparkling. Can you read minds?”

Zayn shook his head. “Nah. I do have an impressive vocal range, though.”

Louis blinked. “I don’t think that’s necessarily a superhuman ability.”

Zayn pouted. “No, but it’s nice.”

The running commentary in Louis’ brain had gone from coherent snark to loud, unintelligible shrieking. “Okay, so no sparkling, and no mind reading. Is there anything you _can_ do? Besides buying me KFC and trying to turn me into some sort of Bella Swan parody, obviously.”

Zayn’s gaze was scorching where it raked over Louis’ body. “Is being a blood sucking immortal not enough for you?”

“I don’t think so anymore,” Louis said. “Like, that’s just the name of the game these days. We have to constantly up the ante.”

Zayn tsked and shook his head. “Pity.” Zayn sighed, rubbing his hands over the back of his neck. “Okay. So like. Hypothetically, maybe I can kind of mind read, but only sort of a little bit? But just not yours?”

Now it was Louis’ turn to stare at Zayn in disbelief. “You can read minds? But not mine?”

Zayn gulped and Louis tracked the movement with hooded eyes. Then, slowly, Zayn nodded.

“Is that why you never talk?” Louis surmised. “Because you’re engaging in weird one-sided mental conversations with people all the time?” Zayn glared at Louis, leading Louis to deduce that the answer to that question was a firm “Yes.” “What about your brothers? Do they have powers, too?”

“Liam’s very nice — ”

“That’s not a fucking superpower, Zayn.”

“ — and Niall has precognitive abilities.” At Louis’ bewildered expression, Zayn clarified, “He can see into the future.”

“Nice,” Louis whistled. “Does he play the lottery?”

“Often,” Zayn admitted. “He’s amassed a nice little fortune for himself over the decades. It doesn’t always come in handy, though. Just the other day Liam accidentally kicked him in the face with a football and Niall didn’t even see it coming.”

Louis cackled at the mental image before sobering very suddenly. A fortune amassed over decades. God, that didn’t even sound real. “ _Decades_. How old are you?”

Zayn looked around himself shiftily. “Old enough.”

“Old enough how old? Like, old enough to remember the the first disciples?”

Zayn screwed up his face. “No. I am not a contemporary of Jesus Christ. Fucking — ”

“Well, if you don’t give me a straight answer I’m going to keep comparing you to ancient historical figures,” Louis replied evenly. “Are you sure you didn’t use to lounge with Cleopatra?”

“ _No_ , Louis — ”

“Were you there when Marie Antoinette had her head cut off? Did you cross the Atlantic with the first pilgrims?”

Zayn looked like he was on the verge of exploding. “I’m only like a hundred years old. _My God_.”

“Only a hundred?” Louis repeated gleefully. “That’s ancient. So you remember like — smallpox? The Ottoman Empire? The Spanish influenza?”

Zayn was looking at Louis like he was regretting telling Louis anything real and substantial about himself. Louis beamed in response. 

“I do remember the Spanish influenza,” Zayn started hesitantly. “It’s the reason why I ended up living in a group home.”

Louis’ grin slid clean off of his face.

It felt silly, a gesture ninety years too late, but Louis reached out and grabbed Zayn’s hand, squeezing it. Louis understood how important it was to not feel alone — to not get caught up in your head and all of the swirling residual anger that lurked there. And Zayn’s resulting grin wasn’t blinding. It didn’t even entirely reach his eyes. But it punched the breath out of Louis’ throat nonetheless.

 

As the heavy hail of the winter months gave way to the softer pitter patter of spring, Louis found himself spending all of his limited free time with Zayn. Louis no longer had to worry about walking to school because Zayn would pick him up from Mark’s house in that sleek red sports car, and then after class Zayn dropped Louis off at the diner or even followed him inside, ordering a hamburger every single time and letting Louis grab French fries off the plate as he flitted from table to table serving customers. Louis and Zayn even walked Freddie together on the weekends, Zayn driving them all down to one of the many rivers nearby and then cackling maniacally when Freddie would get his paws all muddy, much to Louis’ annoyance.

Louis knew that this whole vampire-human relationship thing was supposed to be all encompassing. Passionate. Slightly terrifying. But it wasn’t. It felt decidedly normal. Zayn still didn’t always feel compelled to talk. Sometimes they would sit in his car eating buckets of cold KFC and Louis would do all of the talking for him — reminiscing about his time back in Doncaster and how much he missed his family, how glad he was to have Zayn around. Sometimes Zayn showed up to Louis’ house with treats for Freddie and kind words for Mark and he’d help Louis with his chores. Sometimes they just laid in Louis’ bed together late into the night, Louis closing his eyes and laying his head on Zayn’s collarbone as Zayn read his favorite comics out loud. 

Louis didn’t feel like a lamb, didn’t feel like Zayn was a lion stalking him from afar. Louis felt like they were both two little lost boys who had found each other, two minnows who bumped together while traveling along the same current. There were no threats out there for them to have to worry about. No other vampires wishing they were both dead, no werewolves growling outside Louis’ window. They just _were_. Simple and sweet like no movie Louis had ever seen.

It was a frustratingly chaste relationship. Louis supposed it might have had something to do with the fact that Zayn was approximately a billion years old. Zayn was thoughtful in so many ways, helping Louis with his homework and chauffeuring him around town, and Zayn did have an absolutely filthy mouth, but Louis was quite possibly going to go mad from Zayn’s insistence that they confine their snogging sessions to a hands above the waist, strictly PG sort of thing. Louis wasn’t used to waiting — he was actually proud of how big of a slag he was when he really liked someone. Louis wanted to ruin Zayn, wanted to give him blowies before heading into the diner, wanted to put his hands down the front of Zayn’s expensive trousers and wank him in the school parking lot after class, but Zayn was apparently a gentleman. Or quite possibly a prude. Louis couldn’t be sure which.

 

That was, of course, until prom season rolled around. 

Louis asked Zayn about it over lunch one day — pulling the invitation out of his rucksack and wiggling the piece of paper in Zayn’s face, quirking his eyebrows expectantly. That was a thing, too — eating lunch together. There were a few months where Louis took his lunches alone, heading down to the bleachers outside or sneaking a sandwich into the library, but now Louis and Zayn always made their way to the cafeteria together right after Bio class, Louis typically jabbering on about everything and nothing in particular while simultaneously pretending as though he wasn’t soaking up all of the jealous and disbelieving glares his classmates threw his way. Louis was the future varsity footie captain and his boyfriend was the hottest guy in school — the outlook for the next year was certainly looking good. Louis would’ve loved to cap it all off by winning prom king, but he also knew Zayn didn’t give two fucks about things like that.

And, just as expected, Zayn merely blinked at Louis, appearing entirely nonplussed. “I already planned for us to drive up to Seattle to get suits,” he said.

“Us? So you’re taking me as your date, right?”

Zayn smirked. “That’s what boyfriends tend to do and I know that’s important to you, so yes.”

“Get in! Are you going to rent us a room, too?” Louis asked haughtily. “Will I finally get lucky on prom night like all of the good girls do?”

“Don’t exactly need to rent us a room when I’ve got a whole huge house to myself,” Zayn replied airily. “My parents aren’t going to be home, you know.”

Louis bit down on his bottom lip and ran his foot up the inside of Zayn’s jeans, pressing against his calf. Zayn grinned and bent his head forward while redness bloomed across his cheeks and collarbones.

“I still think we should rig the prom king balloting system so we both win,” Louis remarked. Zayn sighed, long and put-upon, and Louis leaned across the table to kiss the exasperated expression off his face.

 

Zayn was true to his word. They drove up to Seattle and parked downtown, spending a few hours at Nordstrom where they picked up suits and a few other things since Zayn had the money and Louis decided that he didn’t mind being spoiled. Vampirism and financial security were apparently turn-ons for him. And so Louis closed his eyes and pretended like he was an adult and this was his life — a grown up with all the details sorted. A grown-up spending the day with his gorgeous businessman husband. It was a strange thought. Louis wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, just knew that he didn’t want the feeling to go away.

 

Prom night was bleak and colorless, to the surprise of no one who had ever spent more than a week in Forks. Zayn and Louis rode up to the school gymnasium in the same car as Niall and Liam and Louis tried not to laugh too obnoxiously at the cheap tinsel decorations streamed all over the room. Nick was serving as the DJ and he was playing far too much obscure indie bullshit for Louis’ liking, but Zayn was enjoying himself, bobbing his head to the music and smiling whenever he caught Louis’ eye.

The scene wasn’t like anything Louis had ever witnessed on _Gossip Girl_. Louis couldn’t even begin to recognize the song that was playing — it certainly wasn’t something on the top of the charts. Half of his classmates were knobs but not in the love-to-hate-them way like Blair and Chuck. The decorations were cheap and probably recycled from previous years. Forks was everything and nothing like Louis had expected. Louis had just wanted to get his life in order so his mum would bring him back home, but he’d gotten all of _this_ instead. His _real_ dad — the man that had raised him and who Louis loved so much, he’d taken his name — back in his life. A dog who looked at him like he was the entire world. Some peace in the crazy, loud head of his. A beautiful boy who blinked wide, hazel eyes and had a smile full of wisdom and fondness. Louis hadn’t thought about going back to Doncaster in a while. It seemed like a separate life, one full of childish hopes and desires. Maybe Louis was growing up. Maybe this was his coming of age story.

“You know, early on, I wished I didn’t like you as much as I did,” Louis admitted, tossing back his cup of spiked punch. It probably wasn’t the most thoughtful thing to say, but Louis had already let himself fall into the warmth of alcohol and contentment and lust. He was just chasing what felt good — the softness of Zayn’s hands, his mischievous tongue. The sense of security Zayn’s presence always brought Louis. Louis liked his boyfriend so very much.

“Oh?” Zayn asked, pulling Louis in close. The resulting kiss was sweet, tasting like fruit and whiskey. When Louis pulled away, Zayn smelled like expensive cologne and a bit like blood, but Louis didn’t think he entirely minded. He’d gotten used to the faint but cloying scent of copper on Zayn’s belongings. Sometimes Louis thought he would rather like to know what that felt like himself — to feed, to have a hunger that ran deeper than the munchies after rolling a particularly ace spliff on the top of Zayn’s comics. But it was a big, scary thought and Louis was young still. There was still so much to explore and he had nothing but time.

“Yeah,” Louis murmured, dancing away from Zayn’s eager hands just to tease. “Glad I got over that, though. Because God, that mouth of yours. . . I would have your demon baby.”

Zayn laughed, tugging Louis flush against him again. Louis hummed. Blinked up at the streamers that were starting to peel off of the walls. Wondered if it was 11:11 already. Wondered if he still had time to make a wish, or if this moment was wish fulfillment enough.

 

And it was a cliche, the fact that this chapter of Louis’ story ended as they were swaying in the middle of the high school dance while the last song played, but Louis found he didn’t mind. He’d found someone to help make Forks bearable. He found someone he imagined bits and snatches of a future with. He found someone who made him want to _try_ , who made him realize that there was more to life than annoyance and a low simmering anger.

Louis was content, curled up against his timeless boyfriend and decidedly breakable in all of his young, stupid mortality. He and Zayn might not be together forever, but then again, they could be. Zayn might decide that Louis was too silly and inexperienced and Louis could come to think he had better things to worry about than tending to a vampire boyfriend who struggled with basic communication. But they might make a real go of this, too. They could be something strong and beautiful. Louis liked that he had no way of being certain. He liked that it felt dangerous, like a risk. Maybe he didn’t need to drink or have mindless sex in order to still get a rush.

Louis closed his eyes as the last song drifted to a close. He would never say it out loud, and he would certainly never give Zayn the pleasure, but there were definitely worse things to be than a real life Bella Swan. 


End file.
